


national donut day

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2018 Gift Fic [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Donuts, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Clint arranges a surprise celebration for Phil.





	national donut day

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one of my December Gift Fic and was written for James for the prompt _MCU, Clint/Coulson, their work makes it hard to plan to celebrate the big holidays, so when they have time they pick whatever day it is, "International Donut Day" for example, and celebrate that._
> 
> Written: December 1, 2018

Phil arrived at his office that morning to discover a Boston cream donut sitting on a napkin placed exactly in the center of the blotter on top of his desk. The smell of fresh coffee drew his attention to the pot on the low filing cabinet in the corner where a steaming carafe had just finished brewing. Whoever had left the donuts and made the coffee had also managed to sneak into his locked office to do it.

Phil worked for a secret spy organization; the number of people who could break into his office was pretty much everyone. The number who’d break in to leave him a donut and freshly brewed coffee was quite fewer. Phil glanced up at the ceiling and smiled. “Thank you.”

There was no response, but Phil hadn’t expected one. Phil poured the coffee into his favorite mug (it said ‘Archers Do It With A Longbow’ and had been a gift from Clint the one time Phil had ended up in the hospital after a mission instead of Clint) and took a sip. Phil gave the mug a look as he carried it to his desk; it was his ‘special occasion’ coffee. Phil settled in at the desk and ate the donut while he waited for his computer to power up.

Phil was gifted with more donuts throughout the day. A box of mini-donuts (powdered sugar, his favorite) greeted Phil upon his return from a frustrating meeting with accounting. A box of glazed chocolate donut holes fell out of his locker when he changed for his daily workout. Janet, who was working the register in the cafeteria, plopped a box of chocolate frosted on his tray when he went through the lunch line. He found a box of orange glazed in his coat pocket when he got ready to leave for home. On time for once.

Phil hadn’t spotted Clint once all day, but he knew Clint had to have been there. Several people claimed to have ‘just seen him’ at the shooting range, or that Phil had ‘just missed him.’ Phil texted Clint, _I’ll be home on time for once! You?_

Clint replied, _me2!_ then, _ill take care of dinner_

Phil stared at the screen, only relaxing when a third text came through. _by which I mean order take out obvsly_

Phil smiled. _Obviously. See you soon._

Phil slipped the phone into his pocket, then pulled it out again when it buzzed with another text. He rolled his eyes at the string of smiley face, kissy face, and heart emojis, then smiled goofily. He wiped the smile off his face before exiting his office. It wouldn’t do for any of the baby agents (as Clint had nicknamed them) to see him smiling. Or Jasper or Nick for that matter.

~*~

The scents of simmering soup and baking bread hit Phil the moment he opened the door. “Honey, I’m home!” he called.

Clint poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hi.”

Clint was smiling, but there were tight lines around his eyes, and Phil wondered what he was worried about. Phil took off his coat and hung it, which reminded him of the donuts.

“What was with all the donuts? Not that I didn’t appreciate them.”

Clint gave Phil a disappointed look. “It’s National Donut Day, Phil. I expected you to know that.”

Phil bit back a smile. “We’re celebrating National Donut Day now?”

“To be honest, I’m surprised we weren’t already celebrating it.”

Clint slid one arm around Phil’s shoulders and slipped the other hand beneath his suit jacket. Phil’s blood immediately began the trip south as Clint’s body pressed against his just before their lips met. Clint drew back when a timer dinged in the kitchen.

“I’ve got to take the bread out,” Clint said with an apologetic look.

“You baked bread?”

“If re-warming it counts, then yes.”

While Clint got the bread out of the oven Phil checked the pot on the stove – Pasta Fagioli, his favorite. “You went to Bebe’s,” Phil said. “I love that place.”

“I know.”

There was a flush on the back of Clint’s neck that Phil didn’t think came from the heat of the oven. Clint carried the basket of bread over to the table, where a bowl of salad already waited, and lit the candles.

“Seriously,” Phil said, finally taking note of the ambience, including a small arrangement of fresh flowers. “Did I forget an anniversary?”

“Not yet,” Clint said.

“Not yet,” Phil repeated. “That’s not cryptic at all.”

“I meant that it’s not an anniversary yet.”

“You’re not planning to announce that you’re pregnant, are you?” Phil deadpanned.

“Don’t joke,” Clint said. “We’ve seen weirder.”

“True.” Phil glanced around the kitchen while Clint dished up the soup. In addition to the candles and flowers there was a bottle of wine and a box from Phil’s favorite bakery. Before Phil could sidle closer to check it out Clint carried the soup bowls to the table.

“Sit,” Clint said as he poured the wine into the glasses Phil’s mother had given them as a housewarming gift when they’d decided to co-habitate.

Clint joined Phil at the table and took his hand. Phil wondered if they were going to say grace. Instead, Clint said, “I’m thankful to have you in my life. And not just now, with the great sex and all . . .”

Clint winked when Phil blushed.

“. . . but before, because you found me just when I needed to be found. You mean the world to me Phillip Jagger Coulson.”

“Good guess, but no,” Phil said to Clint’s on-going quest to discover his middle name. “My parents may have been Rolling Stones fans, but they didn’t name me after Mick.”

“Damn,” Clint said.

“Is this because we missed Thanksgiving last year?” Phil said gently.

“And Christmas,” Clint said with a hint of bitterness.

They’d been on a mission that had gone FUBAR before their plane even landed, and Clint had been badly injured. He’d spent five weeks in the hospital, two of them in an induced coma. Phil didn’t like to think about that time.

“Well, I’m thankful that you’re alive to still be in my life,” Phil said. “You definitely make my life brighter.”

Clint leaned in and kissed Phil and the thanksgiving portion of the evening appeared to be over. Phil sipped the wine and buttered slices of bread for both of them. They ate the salad and soup, and Phil recounted his adventure of discovering the boxes of donuts.

After the meal Clint started coffee and cleared the table. They washed the dishes and put away the leftovers. Phil finally got a look at what was in the bakery box when Clint removed two slices of what turned out to be chocolate raspberry cake and set them on plates.

Clint blew out the candles before following Phil to the living room where he expected they’d watch a movie while they enjoyed cake and coffee. Phil stopped short at the sight of the small fake Christmas tree sitting in the middle of the coffee table. Lights in the shape of Minions and the homemade decorations – a key ring from their trip to Cabo; a Rudolph tie, complete with blinking nose, that Phil refused to wear; and plastic daisies – made Phil chuckle.

“What’s with the daisies?”

“It’s June, Phil,” Clint said. “I had to borrow the tree, but I came up with the decorations myself.”

“I can see that. Are those presents?”

“Yes. Sit.” They sat and Clint handed Phil a box. “Open it.”

Phil had been surprised by the donuts and the special dinner, and now the tree with presents under it, but he was nothing if not adaptable. Phil set down the plate and mug and studied Clint’s face. “Nothing better jump out at me.”

“I would never,” Clint said very unconvincingly.

It wasn’t long enough to hold a tie, but the small square box might hold a t-shirt. Phil tore the paper off. His breath caught when he pushed aside the tissue paper to see the framed photo of the two of them that Natasha had taken.

Phil gently brushed his fingers over the glass. “Clint.”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Phil said, wanting to chase the worry out of Clint’s voice. In the photo Clint was laughing at something Phil had said and Phil was smiling at Clint. They both looked very happy. “I love it,” Phil repeated.

“I’m glad.” Clint took the box away from Phil and placed another present in his hands.

Phil got a pair of rainbow socks, a pair of underwear that would barely cover anything (“That’s the point,” Clint said with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows.), and a box of peanut brittle (That Clint immediately swiped because, “That’s actually for me.”).

Clint appeared nervous again when he handed over the last box. Phil opened it very carefully. Beneath the cotton padding was a vintage Captain America card with Steve Rogers’ autograph. It was already inside a protective plastic case, but Phil pulled it out by the corner anyway. “Clint.”

“It’s a little dinged on the corner . . .”

The card wasn’t in mint condition, but it meant more to Phil than its monetary value. “Clint,” he said again.

“I’ve been looking for it forever,” Clint said. “I finally had to ask Stark for help.” Clint gestured towards the card. “And Steve, obviously.”

“You asked for help?” Phil tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said. “I played well with others.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Phil looked at the card. “Clint, this is . . . wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clint leaned in and gave Phil a kiss that almost made him forget his one complaint.

“I don’t have anything for you.”

“Actually,” Clint said. His expressions cycled through a variety of emotions as he struggled to dig into the front pocket of Phil’s favorite pair of jeans. Clint groaned. “I wore these jeans because you like the way my ass looks in ‘em.”

“Your ass does look fantastic in them,” Phil agreed.

“But they’re so tight I can’t get . . .” Clint made a sound of success and withdrew his hand. He slid off the couch and onto one knee. Clint knocked into the coffee table and the tree tottered. Phil would ordinarily have reached out to steady it, but he was transfixed by the ring Clint held in his fingers.

“Phil.” Clint cleared his throat. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you do me the honor . . .”

“Yes!”

“. . . of marrying me?” Clint finished with a smile. “You sure you don’t need a second to think about it?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Phil said, holding out his left hand. Tears stung the back of his eyes as Clint very gently slid the ring onto his fingers.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’m really happy,” Phil said. “But I want you to have a ring, too.”

“Oh.” Clint dug into his other pocket and produced another ring – a matching platinum band.

Phil swiped the ring out of Clint’s hand. “My turn.” Phil tugged Clint until he sat on the couch, and Phil got down on one knee.

“You know I’m gonna say ‘yes’, right?”

“Shut up.” Phil gave up on getting into a comfortable position and looked at Clint who was smiling indulgently at him.

“All those things you said are true for me, too. I never thought I’d find someone who fit so well.” From the outside they might look very different, but their differences complemented each other. “My life would be a poorer place if you weren’t in it. I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Clint . . .”

“Yes,” Clint said.

Phil laughed and slid the ring onto Clint’s finger. Clint twined his fingers with Phil’s and slid his other hand around the back of Phil’s head. They met in a kiss that started out as a gentle press of lips to affirm their engagement and quickly became heated.

“I need to get up,” Phil said breathlessly when they broke the kiss. “This position isn’t as comfortable as you might think.”

Clint helped Phil onto the couch, then pushed him back and straddled his legs. “Now, where were we?”

~*~

The cake still tasted good an hour later, and Phil didn’t even care that his coffee had gone cold (or that he’d have to ask his dry-cleaner to replace yet more buttons). ‘Die Hard’, a traditional Christmas movie in Clint’s estimation, was playing (and the tree had been removed from the coffee table so they could see the television), but Phil couldn’t stop stealing glances at the ring on his finger.

“How long of an engagement were you thinking?” Phil said casually.

“The nineteenth is National Kissing Day.”

“Kissing . . . Of June?”

“Too soon?”

“No, I just . . .”

“I want to lock this down,” Clint said. “July 15 is National Apple Turnover day.”

“I do like apple turnovers,” Phil mused.

“Oh! The eighth is Body Painting Day.”

“Let’s do it then,” Phil said through his laughter.

“Deal. Who’s gonna get the body paints?” Clint gave Phil another eyebrow waggle.

“I think it’s my turn.”

“I look forward to it,” Clint said. “How do you think people will feel about getting a box of body paints as their complimentary wedding gift?”

“We’re going to tell them?”

“What would be the fun in _not_ telling them?”

Phil shrugged and thought about Clint’s previous question. “It would probably depend on the person. Natasha will love it, of course. Stark will be horrified. Mostly because he’ll be imaging us using them.”

“He gets what he deserves, then,” Clint said.

“So did I,” Phil said, giving Clint a loving look.

“Sap.” Clint burrowed into Phil’s side to finish watching the movie. “I’m not sure I got what I deserved, but I’m marrying you before you realize you got the raw end of the deal.”

Phil put his arm around Clint’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I think you proved earlier that I definitely did not get the raw end of the deal. You were considerate and romantic and sexy and . . .”

“Alright, alright!” Clint said. “Maybe I do deserve nice things.”

“You think I’m a nice thing?”

“A _very_ nice thing.”

“I think you’re a very nice thing, too.” Phil said. He pressed his face to Clint’s head, then turned his attention to John McClane. If he glanced at the platinum band a few times, no one had to know.

“It’s not gonna go anywhere if you stop looking at it.”

Except Clint, apparently. 

“Be nice,” Phil said.

“According to you, I’m very nice.”

“Did I really say that?”

“You did. And if you need a reminder, I can show you just how nice I can be.”

“I’m not sure that qualifies as ‘nice’,” Phil said as Clint twisted around and climbed into his lap.

Clint closed his teeth on the tendon in Phil’s neck, then placed his lips near Phil’s ear. “I’m aiming for _very_ nice.”

“Well, then,” Phil said, his voice going high when Clint’s hand slipped between them. He had no doubt that Clint would reach his very lofty goal. Clint could be very nice when he wanted to be.

The End


End file.
